


and i can't make you stay (in this broken place)

by bleedinqhearts



Series: baby i'm a drug and i don't wanna hurt you [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Mafia AU, Morning Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Yakuza AU, extreme obsessive use of the petname 'baby', first of all why the fuck does it say free form on some tags gosh i cannot work ao3 to save my life, mentions of guns, mild depictions of violence, naive/innocent reader, unfortunately for all of us there is a sequel and spin off in the works - Freeform, was the sex necessary? no but it was kinda hot so it was added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedinqhearts/pseuds/bleedinqhearts
Summary: i sin too much to pray for you.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader
Series: baby i'm a drug and i don't wanna hurt you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024723
Comments: 29
Kudos: 130





	and i can't make you stay (in this broken place)

**Author's Note:**

> synopsis; no one can believe that one of the most powerful crime lords in the underground world of japan, atsumu miya, is wrapped around the finger of a naive girl like you, but love doesn’t really care about boundaries anyway.

It’s rare for him to be beside you when you wake up in the morning; even rarer than that is you actually waking up before him. But  _ rare  _ doesn’t always equate to  _ never _ , and proof of this is the fact that he’s lying right next to you, snoring softly with an arm thrown over your body. 

It’s funny — even when he’s asleep, he’s still protective of you. 

There had been a lot of things about Atsumu Miya that had taken a considerable amount of time to get used to: his overprotective nature, the way he’s always right (because whatever he says  _ goes _ ; if he says the sky is yellow, National Geographic better have that on the cover of their next issue), the way that he treats speed limits as a suggestion… 

The hardest thing that you had to learn to deal with, though, is the fact that he’s a businessman first and your boyfriend second. And for the most part, you can handle being second place on his list of priorities. 

After all, you’ve only known him for a little over two years. It’s unfair, really, for you to expect him to rearrange his whole entire life over the fact that you entered his… Unexpectedly, if you’re going to delve deep into the details. 

You like to think about how the two of you first met. It never fails to make you smile, and you’re smiling (like an idiot, you presume) right now. You were eighteen, then. A freshman at a decent sized university and horribly naive — even more so than you are right now, which is saying a lot.

He — a random junior fresh out of a party — wanted to take you out. 

“Like a date?” You had asked, stupidly,  _ hopefully _ . 

“Yeah, like a date.” 

(His smile was anything but sweet, but red flags seem like regular flags when you’re eighteen and looking at the world through rose colored glasses.) 

The “date” could only be reached, according to the college boy, via a dark alley that just  _ screamed  _ dangerous. You didn’t want to walk through there, but he had convinced you that you were in safe hands. 

Those same hands were gripped tightly around your wrists as he led you deeper down this unlitted alleyway. The same safe hands that travelled all over the sides of your body. Even in this damp location, even with the humid summer heat of Japan, even with the humidity making the air feel so thick it was as if it were  _ solid _ , even with all of that, you were still shaking every time he so much as grazed your body. 

The moment his “safe hands” found their way up your shirt, you screamed. 

You don’t know this part about the story. Honestly, if Atsumu gets his way (and he usually does), you’ll never know this part. It’s not important, he reasons, for you to know the real reason on why he just so happened to be in that part of town. 

(It had been too dark that night, and you were so anxious that you hadn’t noticed the stains on the collar of his dress shirt, and even if you had, you would never even  _ think  _ for a second that it was the blood of a rival yakuza member.)

Of course, the unbiased details of the story have long since been erased from your memories. When you look back at this fateful day, the only  _ proper  _ way (your words, obviously no one else’s) to explain Atsumu’s entrance is to compare it to that of a knight in shining armor. Because that’s how you felt when you saw his tall figure at the entrance of the alley. 

You had screamed for help, and he saved you with no hesitation. 

After that, it had only made sense to you to keep in contact with him.

For such a shy, scared girl, you were awfully persistent in chasing after him. He’s never saved a girl’s number in his phone before, and he swore that you weren’t going to be an exception.

And then you became an — no,  _ the  _ — exception. 

(He tells you, one day when he’s drunk, that he always knew you were going to be The One since the first day he met you. You had been shaking like you were freezing and stuttering over your words, and he didn’t want to see such a pretty girl like you — no, not  _ like  _ you… just you, because you are the only exception, after all — in a predicament like that ever again. 

What a walking contradiction he is: vowing to protect you as if your very association with him isn’t the main reason why you’re in a constant state of danger.) 

You moved in with him after just six months of dating. He’s your first serious boyfriend, and it’s not like you regret staying by his side, even if he does have some weird tendencies that any other  _ sensible  _ person would investigate. The early morning meetings and late hours that he works “at the office” are suspicious. Sometimes, he’ll come home to you with a different new scar but the same method of brushing off all your questions and concerns as trivial things.

( _ “Ya worry about me too much.” _ He tells you, like the thought of you caring about his well being, about  _ him _ , so deeply doesn’t make his heart grow twice its size.) 

You’re not nearly as dimwitted as his coworkers — specifically Kiyoomi Sakusa, the notorious germaphobe and coldest of the bunch — think you are. You know that there’s more to Atsumu Miya than his job as an investment broker. You know that there’s a reason he doesn’t want you to be at his work office. Absolutely no surprise visits — he’s very adamant about this rule. You highly doubt you could even get away with it; the security for his company is  _ insane _ . 

But he comes home to you in one piece, and his cashflow seems nearly endless, and when you’re with him, you feel so  _ safe _ . So, you don’t question his business, you don’t go digging around, trying to find out where all his money and power come from. At the end of the day, does it really matter? 

All that matters is that he’s here with you, right now, for what seems like the first time in forever. You’re so ridiculously happy about this fact that you can’t seem to stop smiling at him as he continues to sleep. You take a hand to reach up and play with his hair, and his eyes open in a flash, almost as if he hadn’t been sleeping just a second ago. 

He looks ready to jump into action, but his body relaxes when he realizes that it’s just you.

(That’s another one of Atsumu’s odd tendencies — he’s constantly on his guard.)

He makes a small noise, shuts his eyes again, and snuggles up even closer to you, his grip on your body tightening even more. You continue to run your fingers through his hair. 

“Poor baby, longer hours at the office?” You murmur, more to yourself than him. Of course you know that he’s working longer hours — the number of times you fell asleep while waiting for him makes it hard for you to not notice the slight shift in his schedule. 

He’s still trying to snuggle up even closer to you, like he can’t bear not having his body pressed flush against yours. 

“Mm, I’d feel a lot better if I got to spend more time with my girl.” He says, face burrowed in your hair, muffling his voice. You know this is just supposed to be a sweet morning in bed with your boyfriend, but you can’t help but squeeze your thighs together at his trademark nickname for you —  _ my girl _ . It sounds even better when it’s said with his morning voice. 

“Let’s have breakfast together.” You suggest, your hand moving lower to play with the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. 

It’s not a bad idea. Atsumu knows you like to dote on him just as much as he does for you. The image of you wearing one of his dress shirts and just a pair of panties he bought you while working hard to prepare him a meal is a sight that greets him home at least once a week, and he can never get tired of it. But it’s been a while since he’s been able to indulge in this much free time, and today—

Today Atsumu wants breakfast in bed. 

His arm around your waist allows him to squeeze one of your asscheeks before he moves his arm to the front of your body, traveling to the apex of your thighs. You part them without him having to tell you to do so, and he smiles at your easy submission. You really  _ are  _ his good girl, huh? 

“ _ ‘Tsum—’Tsumu _ .” You whimper out while he traces the lace of your panties before pulling them to the side to expose your pretty pussy. He leans on his other arm, resting all his body on his left arm, so he can admire you better. 

“So early in the morning, and my baby’s already so wet.” He’s smiling as his index finger finds its way inside of you. 

You know that your original plan was supposed to be making Atsumu feel good, a treat for working so hard (working on  _ what _ , you have no idea), but you can’t focus because it’s barely seven in the morning, and he already has you wet and wanton for him and his touch. It’s unfair, really, how just a simple taste of his touch has you keening for more already. 

You can’t help but lift your hips up to try to get him in deeper, but he just laughs — a deep, melodic rumble — before adding his middle finger. 

One of the things he loves most about you is the effect you have on how he views life. Atsumu Miya’s never been the type of guy to believe in fate; coincidences, sure, but never  _ destiny _ , y’know? But he supposes even the universe has a heart, because it led him to you. 

Sometimes, when he’s feeling extra confident, he reckons that he has the Midas Touch. His hands have explored every centimeter of your gorgeous body; how else would he explain just how golden you are? But that’s just all you; his golden girl long before you even met him. If anything, he knows the real truth: the more time you spend with him, the more time you’ll lose that lovely shine to you. Touches from a man like him only tarnish, are only capable of tainting you. 

But he can’t think about that now. Lately, he’s been getting in his head, always wondering when the day is gonna come where you decide to pack your bags and jump ship. It’s why he needs to savor moments like these for as long as they last. 

You grind against his hand, trying to get him in deeper as if it’s physically possible. That’s another thing he loves so much about you; it’s easy to get you needy for him. The thought of you being like this with someone else leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but the little whimpers of his name draws him out of his uncalled for jealous spiral. 

Your hands, so much tinier than his, grab onto his arm, nails making themselves at home on the skin and muscle of his biceps. Most of the time, you’re his cute little pillow princess, but then there are moments where you’re just so desperate that you’re willing to put in the work, too. 

“Look at you, baby, gettin’ all wet and messy from riding my fingers like they’re my cock.” He coos, watching you use his fingers to get yourself off. You’ll never believe him when he tells you just how pretty you look going stupid as the only thought in your mind is to chase after the pleasure only he can give you. Would you be grinding against the hand of anyone else, clenching around someone else’s fingers as well as you are right now? 

No, you wouldn’t be. You wouldn’t be, because it’s his skin that had indentations of your nails digging themselves in there as your movements get even more sporadic. It’s him that’s being granted a front row seat to watch the way your pretty pussy glistens in the morning glow of the sun. It’s his fingers that are buried knuckles deep in your wet heat, his hand that your slick arousal is dripping all over. 

“ _ ATSUMU! _ ” You moan out, practically humping his hand as you ride out your first orgasm of the morning. Your cheeks are burning with heat, but it’s nothing compared to the warm feeling you get in your belly before cumming all over your boyfriend’s fingers. 

You’re not given a moment to come down from your previous high because when Atsumu withdraws his fingers from your cunt and brings his cum coated fingers to his lips to get a taste of you, all his restraint, all thoughts of taking his time to savor your sweetness, flies out the window. 

He’s greedy, he knows it. But he also knows  _ you _ , so when finds himself with his head between your thighs, licking up the remnants from your previous orgasm, he knows before you even do it that you’ll card your fingers through his hair and push his head down.

He smiles at your needy actions. Honestly, when he’s with you, it’s hard to stop himself from smiling. You just make him _ so happy _ — even happier when you make those cute, little noises when he fucks you with his tongue. 

He could live in between your legs for the rest of his life, with only your juices to sustain him. Drugs have hardly ever held any interest to him, but as he relishes in the sweet taste of you, he can’t help but think that you’re his drug of choice. With a pussy like pure codeine, and a taste so sweet that he can’t help but drown himself in your essence, you wash away all his worries. 

You’re lucky that he’s not tender headed, especially since you always love to pull at his hair when he makes you feel good. The sounds of him eating you out are lewd and mix in with your sweet mewls. He knows you’re close. Your thighs are closing in on him, your grip on his hair is tightening and you’re pulling with reckless abandon as your body squirms and moves sporadically without your mind telling it too. You’re so lost in the pleasure, burning in the heat of the moment. 

When he finally sucks on your clit, you scream as your second orgasm has you clamping your thighs. He continues sucking on your clit throughout your release, utterly enraptured at the way you throw your head back with your back arched. He admires the way your pretty lips part to moan out his name, only his name,  _ always his name _ .

You’re trying to catch your breath, watching as he licks his lips, your juices smeared all over his chin, making the lower half of his face all shiny, slick with your arousal. Your bottom lip juts out as you pout, tears welling up in your eyes. 

Immediately, the pleased expression on his face morphs into one of complete concern. 

“Baby, what’s the matter?” He’s panicking, worried that he went too hard on you. He’s been rougher before, but maybe his idea of “soft and sweet” is different from yours. He had only wanted to make you feel good, and it seemed like you were enjoying it, but—

“Y-you didn’t give me a-a-a chance—” You sniffle, finding it hard to stop the flow of tears from falling down your warm cheeks. “—t-to make you feel good, t-too.” 

His thumb wipes away some of your tears. Look at you, all fucked out with your cute, quivering little hole still clenching around nothing. Nothing is better than seeing your pussy covered in your cum — unless, of course, it’s his cum that’s seeping out your abused hole. 

“It’s okay, baby.” He coos, using his free hand to tug at the waistband of his boxers. “I never said we were finished.” 

* * *

Atsumu Miya likes to play games. Which his right-hand man, Kiyoomi Sakusa, says is going to be the downfall of them all, but Atsumu doesn’t care because he thinks that Omi is too serious for his own good. 

To the outside world, he’s the president of MSBY, one of the leading investment brokerages in Japan. That’s what he likes to call himself: an investment broker. A real businessman, y’know? And he looks the part, too: gelled hair, nice watch, shiny shoes, a custom tailored suit that’s been ironed by you. 

To the men who dared to go against him, though, he’s the embodiment of death. The building MSBY calls its headquarters is fifty stories tall, but right now, _ right fucking now _ , he’s deep underground. On the rare occasions he does allow you to visit him at work, he shows you to his office at the very top floor — the one with the best view in Japan, he tells you, as you stare in awe at the beautiful scene before you — and says that this is where he does most of his work.

He doesn’t like lying to you, but sometimes, lying is necessary. You’re a curious thing by nature; if he told you the truth, the truth being that most of the time, all of his business is handled in the wide basement of this office building, you would ask to see it. 

He doesn’t want you to see it, though. Doesn’t want you to see the way he handles business, doesn’t want you to see the men he does business with, and certainly doesn’t want those men to see  _ you _ . 

“ _ Pathetic _ .” Kiyoomi spits out, leaning against the wall with a cold look in his dark eyes. The black mask he’s wearing obscures the disgusted sneer on his face that Atsumu knows is gracing his features. 

The three men whose knees are on the floor, bowing down to Kiyoomi and Atsumu, don’t say anything in reply. 

Kiyoomi brought them in because he had a sneaking suspicion that this trio had been breaking the rules, and Kiyoomi’s suspicions are hardly ever wrong. These three men had gotten a little bit too ambitious in their pursuit of money. 

“Ya think I would just let the three of ya walk around as free men after what you tried to pull?” Atsumu snaps. “You think I would let anyone get away with tryin’ to sell off girls? The three of you are shit at running drugs, you really thought you could get away with human trafficking?” His voice is raising — he’s not yelling, though, not yet. “I ought to get the whole crew down here, so they can watch you three beg for your lives before I put a bullet through each of yer heads.” 

“Pl-please, sir—”

“Close yer damn mouth. The more you talk, the more I want to get this over with.” Atsumu takes a step closer to them. “I was gonna go easy on ya, but then Omi told me somethin’ real interesting.” He nods to Kiyoomi, who finally stops leaning against the wall and straightens up. 

“They have a bunch of files on young girls they’ve been scouting in this area. Ones that they think would be easy targets.” Kiyoomi tosses the file that he’s been hiding away in the inside of his suit jacket. “I think the one I left on top is gonna make you—” He pauses, as if he trying to find the right word without spoiling the surprise. He shrugs instead. “Well, go ahead and take a look.”

When Atsumu opens the file, he’s greeted with a candid shot of  _ you _ . It had been taken last week — he knows so, because he recognizes the frilly white sundress you’re wearing in this photo. It’s the same dress he bunched up to fuck you by the lake the two of you were having a picnic at. The memory is a good one, but the fact that they managed to get a clear photo of you before that angers him. 

Attached is a paper with your information filled out: basic things, like your name, age, your city of residence… 

Obviously their work isn’t nearly as thorough as it could be, considering the fact that they hadn’t known about your connection to him. It’s almost laughable, really, at how pitiful their attempts to start their own little side business is. 

“[Y/N] [L/N].” He reads out your name slowly, mockingly — as if these men are children who need help sounding out new vocabulary words in a picture book. 

“Sir, please! We’ll do anything! We-we can even get her for you, if that’s what you wa—“ 

A swift kick to the man’s jaw has him shutting up, the impact so strong that a tooth flies out. Kiyoomi looks at it with disgust. 

“God, you three are the biggest fucking idiots here, huh? I don’t even wanna know what I was thinking lettin’ ya in.” Atsumu’s eyes narrow at the pitiful sight beneath him. He should feel bad, he thinks. But, then again, they’re just  _ asking _ for it. Not only did they try to use their weak connection to MSBY to promote their own little business venture, but they failed, miserably. He’d be embarrassed to be them right now. 

It’s not just the ignorance and disloyalty that has his blood pressure rising, though. It’s the fact that they’ve been watching you, taking pictures of you, maybe even following you whenever they can, that makes him see red. Them asking him to spare their lives in exchange for you, though, is his breaking point. 

Kiyoomi can see that Atsumu’s _this_ _close_ to doing something dangerous, but he doesn’t make any moves to stop him. Not because he can’t, but because he just doesn’t want to. Atsumu’s a big boy who can clean up his own messes (not well, which leaves Kiyoomi with the responsibility to erase all traces that anyone’s ever been murdered down here). Truth be told, Kiyoomi’s bored, and when Atsumu gets mad, things get fun. 

He can see the gears turning in Atsumu’s head right now as he plans his next move. The pathetic whimpering coming from the trio of traitors is making Kiyoomi’s ears bleed, so he’s hoping ‘Tsumu can hurry the hell up so he can make it on time for a lunch reservation he set up… 

“Since the the three of ya are all gonna be meeting yer maker soon, I’ll let you in on a little secret only the higher ups know about.” He pulls out his phone — his personal one, the one dedicated just for you — while he talks. “[Y/N] is my  _ girlfriend _ . So I don’t  _ need _ the three of you to try to take advantage of her and bring her to me.” He crouches down so he doesn’t have to speak as loud when he explains what’s about to go down. 

“As a matter of fact, I think I’m gonna call her right now. Ya know what happened to the last guys that tried to fuck me and my organization over?” 

“Sir! We did—“ 

He gets cut off when Kiyoomi knees him on the side of his head. 

“Shut up, and let him finish.” Atsumu can always count on Kiyoomi to help him get his point across. 

“The last guy’s last words were tellin’ my girl how pretty she looked. She’s pretty, isn’t she?” 

“ _ Y-yes _ .” 

“Ya think my girl is pretty?” Atsumu pulls out his gun, matte black, fully loaded, and presses it against the middle man’s head. “Ya wanna know why that was that bastard’s last words?” He sneers, not waiting for an answer. “It’s because he wasn't even  _ good _ enough to be looking at her.” 

He pulls back his hand, removing the gun from against the man’s temple, and straightens up, standing to his full height. 

“But that was too borin’. And besides, I don’t want you fuckers talkin’ to her.” His gun is tucked safely behind his back as he unlocks his phone. A photo of you blowing a kiss at him greets him on his home screen. 

“I’m gonna ask her to pick a number between one and three. Whatever number she chooses is the number of bodies Omi’s gonna have to take to the burner.” 

“Th-this isn’t  _ right _ !” One of the men shouts. “Letting your fucktoy call the shot—“ 

“You can get shot right now if ya like.” The man is silent. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

When he calls you, you pick up on the first ring, just like he knew you would because that’s what you  _ always  _ do.

“Hey, aren’t you at work right now?” 

“I’m takin’ a break.” 

“That’s good! You’ve been working so hard. Are you sure you can’t bring some of your work home?” 

Well, he could, but he’s not sure how you would feel about having a stranger’s blood splattered all over the white carpets you made him buy. 

“Nah, I’m fine. Hey, I wanted to call you because I need some help.” 

“Really?” He can practically see your wide eyes. “Of course! D-do you need me to come down to the office?” 

“No!” He winces when he realizes that his voice is louder than it needs to be. “No.” He repeats, more gently this time around. The difference startles the three men, but Kiyoomi just rolls his eyes. It’s pathetic how much Atsumu babies you. 

“I just need you to pick a number between one and three.” 

“For what?”

“Can’t say. Just pick, baby.” 

“Um…” He can tell you’re probably biting your bottom lip in thought. “Whatever I say won’t ruin the company, right? Like, this isn’t some life or death decision I’m making?”

Atsumu’s smile is a sadistic one. “Of course not! I can’t tell ya what it’s for, but it’s definitely nothing crazy. But you gotta pick now, baby, I’m in a hurry.”

“Okay, well, you know what? You can never go wrong with picking the highest number. I think I should choose number three.” 

“Three?” Atsumu asks, just to confirm that he hasn’t gone hard of hearing yet. 

“Three.” You confirm, giggling a little bit. “So, did I choose good?” 

“You chose perfectly, baby. I gotta go now, but I’ll see you tonight.” 

When he hangs up, it’s like flipping a switch. His face is contorted into a cruel sneer as he stares down at the three men. He only looks up to nod at Omi, who’s now pulling out his own gun. 

“Hey.” Atsumu taps the toe of his shiny dress shoes on the cheek of one of the kneeling men. It’s the same one who was so adamant that this “wasn’t right”. Pulling back the safety of his gun, the action making a resounding click that echoes throughout this dark room, Atsumu smirks. “How does it feel knowing that my  _ fucktoy  _ is the reason why ya got a bullet through yer head?”

He doesn’t get an answer because dead men don’t speak. 

* * *

Showing you off, though, becomes a problem — and fast.

Word spreads like wildfire in the underground world, and the hottest news right now is this: Atsumu Miya’s absolutely whipped for some stupid slut, and if you value your life, you’ll leave her the fuck alone. 

But there are two sides to a coin, and the other side is this: the best way to fuck with Atsumu Miya is to fuck with  _ you _ . 

Every major and minor crimelord or lone wolf has heard about you. Most of them have seen a photo of you, some of them even have their own. The most direct way of having Atsumu Miya in the palm of their hands is to choke you with it first. 

An old rival of his is the first to hear the news about you. Tobio Kageyama isn’t interested in how pretty you are; he doesn’t care that you’re naive and just begging to be taken advantage of; he couldn’t care less about all the lewd comments used to describe you when he’s gathering info. All he cares about is that kidnapping you will have Atsumu doing whatever he wants, and at the end of the day, all Tobio  _ really  _ cares about is how much power he has. 

But you don’t know about any of this. How could you? Atsumu’s main goal is keeping you in the dark. You’re not stupid — obviously, he’s into some shady shit, but it’s never been anything that you felt you should worry about. Besides, aren’t all businessmen a little crooked? 

The sound of several muttering voices and the slam of a door signals that Atsumu is home, and you peek your head from behind the wall that serves to separate the entranceway from the living room.

“‘Tsumu?” You ask, staring first at your boyfriend, and then at the three men behind him. You recognize the trio — you call them his friends, even though Atsumu knows better. They’re loyal and he doesn’t mind spending time with them, but there’s no room for any real meaningful friendships to take place. 

“We have to go.  _ Now _ .” Atsumu makes his way to you in just three long steps, his hand finding its way to your tiny arm, squeezing tight as he drags you alongside him. 

“‘Tsumu, I-I don’t understand. Did I do something? Wh-” 

“Kiyoomi, you sure you wanna go alone? Bo could always come with you.”

Kiyoomi scoffs underneath his mask, as if what Atsumu just suggested offends him. “I respect Ushijima, but I’m sure he and I can come to an understanding without any assistance.” 

Atsumu speaks to Shouyo and Koutarou, double checking on certain things, and when everything seems to be sorted out, he nods at them before dragging you out into the hallway of the apartment building you live in. 

“Atsumu, let me go.” 

“I can’t do that.” He says, never easing his grip on you as he walks down the hallway and pulls you into an elevator, taking the two of you down to the parking garage. 

“What’s going on, Atsumu?” You try to ease the shake in your voice as you grab at his chin, forcing him to face you. He seems angry at first, but his features soften as he looks down at you. 

“I’m not a good person, ya know.” 

“Did something happen?” 

“The specifics aren’t important, trust me.” 

“Trust you?” You ask. “Can I?  _ Should  _ I?”

Now’s not the time for his heart to be breaking. Whether he’s fucking you or not, you always look up at him adoringly, like he’s just the ninth wonder of the world or something. Now, you’re staring at him like he’s a stranger, and the worst part about it is the fact that it’s entirely justified. You brought out a different side to him no one else would ever know existed, but that doesn’t mean you know about who he  _ really  _ is. 

“Do you?” He retorts, looking directly in your eyes, seeing his crazed expression reflecting back at him. 

A beat passes, and then—

“Of course I do, ‘Tsumu.” 

You’re telling the truth. 

* * *

When he takes you to the safe house, he explains it. Maybe not all of it, and he’s definitely sparing you the gritty details, but you get what you need to know — what you  _ should  _ know. MSBY has one foot in the corporate world, and one buried deep in the ground of the world of organized crime. He’s been prepped and primed for his position since he was a teenager; leaving isn’t an option granted to many.

He gave up his life for this cause so his brother could live normally. Now you know why he never talks about Osamu — it’d leave a bitter taste in your mouth too. 

A lot of bad men want to hurt you as a means of getting to him. He can protect you — he  _ will  _ protect you. He just needs time. Time to gather more resources, time to deal with all his enemies,  _ time time time _ . 

He’s been running short of it for quite a while now. 

He tells you your limited options: stay with him, or stay with him ‘til it’s safe for you to leave this safehouse, and you can break free from this life. You can pretend that you’ve never even met him. Move on. Meet someone normal. You’d still be under his protection either way. 

You cried when he told you this. You’re sensitive, after all. Empathetic, too. His pain ultimately becomes  _ your  _ pain, and he hates himself because the last thing he had ever intended to do was  _ hurt you _ . 

But hurting people comes easy to him. His hands have been molded to hold a gun, not love. He’s not built for tender touches and handling things with care, and maybe he was just fooling himself into thinking that you’re meant to be his. 

But all thoughts of how he’s a monster incapable of deserving nice things, incapable of deserving  _ you _ , leaves his mind when he finds you straddling his lap. You stopped crying, but the barely dried up tear streaks are still on your cheeks, lashes still wet as you stare at him. 

You’re pressing your body against his, arms wrapped around his neck, face burrowed in the open space between his neck and shoulder. It’s like you’re trying to steal him of all his warmth — isn’t it bad enough that you’ve already stolen his heart? 

Is it bad that he’d give you his all, give you everything, if you just asked? 

He’s not sure how long he holds you like this, but it also doesn’t take you very long to start squirming against him. 

Even in a life threatening situation, you’re still his needy little slut. You’re grinding on his lap, letting out tiny, cute whimpers as you rub your clothed cunt over his steadily hardening cock. 

“Mmm, I-I need you, ‘Tsumu.” You whine out, rubbing your face against his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. 

“Yeah? My pretty baby needs me?” He groans out. “I need you, too, baby. I need to fuck your little pussy ‘til everyone knows who you belong to.” 

Ridding you of your shorts and panties is an easy task, especially since you’re so eager. Your dainty fingers are unzipping his jeans, and he watches you with half-lidded, lust filled eyes as you hastily pull down, trying to free his cock from its confines. 

He fucks you all night, making good on his word. The first time you orgasm is when you ride his cock like it’s the last time you’ll ever do so, pathetically rutting up against him like a weak bitch in heat. His fingerprints are embedded in the flesh of your hips, and he sucks harsh hickies on your neck and collarbone that don’t fade for a week. The second time you orgasm is when he takes you to the king sized bed and properly gets his cock reacquainted with your pretty pussy, thrusting in so deeply that he presses against your cervix despite your whines. Your walls clamp down on him so tightly, clinging to his dick every time he tries to move; he doesn’t have to mold you to him, it’s as if you’ve already been made for him, custom tailored to fit him and only him.

He fucks you rough and hard, with a bruising pace and superhuman stamina. Your throat is sore from screaming so much. You’re nothing but a leaking hole by the time he’s done for the night, vision blurred and limbs feeling like gelatin. You can barely form a coherent thought, nevertheless speak using actual sentences, and so when he pulls you close to him, placing a gentle, almost  _ chaste  _ kiss on your forehead, you can’t tell him what you want to say:  _ I love you, and I won’t leave you _ . 

The hardest part about the life he’s been forced to live is the fact that his priorities will never align. He thinks about this as he tucks you in, brushing back your hair as you sleep. You roll over on your side, grabbing at the spot where he should have been laying, pouting in your sleep as if you know he should be there and he isn’t. 

That’s the issue. No matter how much he wants to, he can’t be there for you as much as he would like. 

Stupid Kiyoomi warned him about this — “ _ You can’t live a double life _ .” He can’t run the underground crime world and be your boyfriend. He also can’t put you through this life; can’t force you to stay in a place where you don’t belong. 

He brushes his lips against your forehead again, smiling at you as you sleep. 

He’ll come back for you, he swears. He just has to make sure that you’ll be safe. Won’t come back for you until he’s certain that all the major threats are gone. 

You’ll wake up alone. There will be no way for you to contact him. He won’t go out of his way to speak to you, either. It’s best for the both of you to learn and adjust to living without each other. 

In this line of business, it’s just better for everyone in the long run to prepare for the worst.


End file.
